You're the One that I Want
by xTimexTurnerx
Summary: When Bellamy gets in one too many fights, Principal Jaha makes himself clear: become part of the campus community or risk expulsion. Enter Clarke Griffin, the Arcadia High drama queen is less than pleased to share the spotlight with someone as nonchalant as Bellamy Blake. With her tutelage, can Bellamy graduate high school? And more importantly, will the show go on?
1. An Ultimatum

"Did you forget lunch money?" Bellamy gestured to the empty table as he plopped his lunch tray down next to his younger sister, Octavia. He was glad to have an excuse to pester her; she was sitting alone in the crowded cafeteria and knew she would not accept his presence without an excuse.

Octavia rolled her eyes. "I have money, I'm just not hungry. Can you please move?"

Bellamy bit into his apple as a response.

"Okay, then I guess I'll move." Octavia stood up and swung her more stylish than functional leather backpack over her shoulder. She waved to a small group of girls, other sophomores at school, and started to walk toward them. Bellamy felt better.

"Nice ass," a male voice called as it crossed behind his sister's path. Bellamy nearly cricked his neck looking around for the culprit. Then he saw him. John Murphy. The resident school scumbag was swaggering away as if he hadn't just catcalled a female student two years his junior. Bellamy pushed his lunch away and stood up.

"Bell!" Octavia attempted to grab Bellamy's shoulder as he bellowed past her but her voice sounded light in his roaring ears.

"Hey, Murphy!" John turned around in time to match his cheek with Bellamy's right hook. John stumbled back a few steps and Bellamy sunk a fist into his flank before he had the chance to straighten. By now, the entire quad realized they had lunch time entertainment and started to gather around the two boys.

Murphy clutched his side and squared his shoulders to retaliate. Before he had the chance, two campus security monitors reached the scene. The officers broke through the circle of students and gripped each of the boys, pinning their arms at their sides.

"To the Dean's Office! Now!" A phrase Bellamy was quite used to hearing by his senior year at Arcadia High School. He caught Octavia's eyes as he walked past and she looked furious. Bellamy had the decency to dip his eyes to the floor. He could care less about what Dean Kane had to say to him, or what the student body had to say about him, but Octavia's opinion was the only one that mattered to him. He desperately tried to be a role model for her, and sometimes that meant standing up to creeps.

After waiting an hour in the busy office (two girl fights were ahead of him, and he winced when he saw one student missing a chunk of her hair in the back), the same security guard appeared before him. "Cummon, Blake. We're going to the Principal."

Bellamy was surprised. High and mighty Principal Jaha rarely came out of his office or interacted with students. Bellamy was pretty sure Jaha was biding his time until he could run for some education board or office. At the very least it would be a change of pace from Dean Kane's loud lectures.

When they reached the office, Bellamy was immediately ushered in. Principal Jaha had his fingertips pressed together like a wise wizard. He nodded to the security officer and then the door shut.

"Well, Mr. Blake. You've accumulated quite the record." Bellamy stayed silent, trying to size up the older man.

"Including today that makes three fights this year, two suspensions. Last year, five incidents, one suspension. Sophomore year, four writes ups and three in-school suspensions. Freshman year, eight incidents." Bellamy had never heard his infamous statistics rattled off before and tried to figure out if they made him feel repentance.

Nope.

"I'm not sure if you understand how precarious your situation is, Bellamy. Arcadia High has expelled students for much less. With your record and how deep we are into your senior year, I doubt another school would take you."

Bellamy's pulse quickened. Although Dean Kane was repetitive, they had a rapport. Kane always went relatively easy on Bellamy. Principal Jaha did not look forgiving and for the first time, Bellamy was worried he wouldn't obtain his high school diploma.

"My grades—" Bellamy began.

"Are good. Excellent, in fact. Which tells me you aren't stupid. You are making choices, and bad ones at that. I think you need a change in environment, Bellamy. You've never joined a club, sport, or been involved on our campus."

"I work after school." Which was true; Bellamy worked five hours after school each day and weekends. Someone had to support the household if his mother wasn't willing to.

"Good. Working instills responsibility. But you have a choice: join a campus program or be expelled. If you contribute to our school, perhaps you will be less willing to break our rules."

Bellamy sighed. "Which program?"

"I was hoping for a sport to get out your… physical energy. However, winter sports have already held tryouts… The drama department is about to hold auditions for the school musical."

Bellamy chuckled. "I don't act. Or sing. Or dance."

"This may be perfect for you then. Get you to try something new." Principal Jaha smiled serenely.

"You're joking?"

"No, Bellamy. I am not joking. But, the choice is yours. You can try and be a part of something, or be expelled. Without a diploma and without a regard for rules, my bet is that you would be arrested within a year. What example would that set for your sister?"

Bellamy's eyes flashed. Jaha was intelligent and he knew Bellamy's weaknesses. Everything Bellamy did was for Octavia. Most of his "incidents" were from defending Octavia in some way. "Fine."

"Wonderful. I'll let Mrs. Green know. And beware, Bellamy. She will be reporting to me regularly. If you cause trouble, miss a practice, or act destructive, you will no longer be a student at Arcadia High School."


	2. An Audition

"Are you sure your mom isn't coming home?"

"My mom is never home," Clarke reminded Finn. Regardless, he stilled his hands which had moments before been unbuttoning Clarke's blouse. Clarke picked her phone out of her back pocket, opened the iCal application and held it up to Finn's eye level. "See? 'Deposition until 8:00pm.' She thinks linking our calendars will make us more linked." Clarke rolled her eyes as she tucked the phone away. "So, where were we?"

Finn grinned and undid the remaining buttons, pushing the shirt off Clarke's shoulders as quickly as he could. Clarke planted her lips on Finn's neck and enjoyed hearing the small changes in breathing he let out as she worked her way to his collar bone.

Finn was a fuckboy; Clarke knew this. He was on-again off-again with his ex- girlfriend Raven Reyes, who was a senior at their rival school, Azgeda High School. They referred to themselves as "Ice Nation" because their mascot was the penguin. Barf. In Clarke's opinion they were the stupider, and less put together version of Arcadia. What Finn loved about Raven Clarke wasn't sure; whenever they were "dating" they were fighting constantly. And sure enough, whenever Raven was out of the picture, Finn would text Clarke.

But there were a few good qualities to Finn. He was easy to talk to, a good listener. And then there were moments like these—

"Yes, harder." Clarke panted out and Finn delivered. Once Finn was assured Mrs. Griffin wasn't coming home for five hours, he proceeded to tease Clarke right there in the kitchen until she bent herself over the counter and guided him inside her.

The cool tile against Clarke's nipples had her skin erupt in goosebumps. Finn raked his hand down Clarke's back and dug his nails into her waist.

"I'm gunna cum," he got out before pumping erratically into her for a few moments. Once he stilled, he slipped out of her and pulled off the condom with a nearby paper towel. Clarke's skin felt like it was on fire. She had been so close. She unfolded herself and turned around to Finn. "Round two?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

He smirked, "That's my girl."

After a more personally satisfying round of sex, Clarke kicked Finn out of her house. She enjoyed their physical relationship and occasionally found herself dangerously close to catching feelings for him, but he was too unreliable. Clarke wanted Finn if Finn didn't want Raven, and she knew some part of him still did. Plus, she needed to review her song for auditions the next day.

Clarke had been practicing for weeks; Grease was her favorite musical as a girl and she was thrilled Mrs. Green had picked this as her senior show. Although Sandy's bubbly personality wasn't relatable for Clarke, she still wanted the role. Sandy was iconic; not to mention it would look great on her theater resume she wanted to ship out to performing art programs next week.

Clarke was also fairly certain she would get the role. She spent so much time building sets and making costumes freshman year to get on Mrs. Green's good side and it worked. Clarke starred in the fall play and spring musical each year, usually beside her best friend, Wells.

The following afternoon, Clarke walked into the auditorium feeling prepared and confident. She signed her name on the audition roster and was happy to see she would be going last; she liked to leave an impression. Clarke was scanning over the list again to get a sense of her competition when someone bumped into her. Clarke turned around. "Lexa."

"Clarke." The brunette's eyes were rimmed with kohl and she had dingy rings on each finger. Clarke was positive Lexa bumped into her on purpose.

"What are you auditioning for?"

"None of your damn business." Clarke nodded once, message received, and let Lexa pass her. Lexa and Clarke secretly dated for a few months the previous school year. The relationship ended because Lexa started falling in with a different crowd; the kids who ditched school constantly, wore all black and were high every day. Clarke stayed the same and Lexa changed, simple. But Lexa did not take kindly to being broken up with and still harbored a grudge toward Clarke.

"That looked pleasant," Wells commented sarcastically when Clarke sat down next to him.

"It always is."

"Welcome, everyone! I'm so excited to see you all here for auditions, we're going to put on a fantastic show." Mrs. Green was an Asian woman in her middle forties. Her son, Monty, attended Arcadia High School but was a grade below Clarke and deeply invested in the robotics program; their paths never crossed. Mrs. Green was kind to those she liked, but also could be tough and demanding.

"When I call your name—" the loud theater door blast open, streaming sunlight into the dark room. "Ah, Mr. Blake. I was starting to wonder if we would be graced with your presence. Come sign in and then grab a seat, please. As I was saying…"

Clarke's eyes fixated on the back of Bellamy's head. Bellamy Blake? Auditioning for the school musical? Why? Bellamy had never shown an interest for the drama club before this, or anything at Arcadia. Bellamy and Clarke shared several classes together because he was surprisingly intelligent, but he was constantly absent due to his nonchalance or multiple suspensions for fighting.

"Did you know he was trying out?" Wells whispered. Clarke shook her head.

"Harper!" Mrs. Green called. The girl's cheeks colored brilliantly. Clarke heard Harper was dating Monty, which must make auditioning significantly more intimidating. Sure enough, Harper's voice was quiet for several bars in her song before clearing into her regular soprano.

Clarke tuned most of the auditions out, running her song over and over in her head. She did focus when Wells was on stage, applauding when he finished. Wells had a great vocal range, but tended to fall flat when holding longer notes. Easily fixed, Clarke justified. It would be fun to star in her final high school show with Wells. Although it would be more challenging to pretend to be in love with him… that's why they called it acting, right?

"Clarke!" she snapped out of her thoughts and automatically propelled herself toward the stage. She took a deep breath before beginning. She sang "A Heart Full of Love" from Les Miserables, where she starred as Cosette last year. When she finished the room applauded… except for the hooded figure at the end of the first row.

"Bellamy!" Mrs. Green called. Apparently Clarke was not last. The hooded figure stood up and Clarke brushed past Bellamy in his black hoodie under a black leather jacket. He also was wearing grey jeans and blue Vans; Bellamy and Lexa looked like they shared a stylist.

"I didn't know I needed to prepare a song," he said flatly. Clarke rejoined Wells in the audience.

"That's all right. How about the 'Star Spangled Banner?' I just need to get a sense of your range."

"My what?"

Clarke snickered.

"Your vocal range—how high and low you can sing. Okay, on my count, 1, 2, 3…" Mrs. Green started playing the piano and Bellamy turned until his back was facing

the audience and he was singing directly to the theater director. Clarke was ready and willing to make fun of him, but when his voice filled the room she came up short.

Bellamy's voice was clear, supported and he hit each note, high and low alike. Granted, he didn't hold any note out to its full time, but that was easily fixable. Possibly more fixable than being flat…

When Bellamy finished, the auditorium rested in stunned silence for a moment before clapping. Who knew Bellamy Blake, the skateboarder who punched kids for looking at him wrong, had raw musical talent? Mrs. Green also looked shocked, but recovered quickly to look pleased. Bellamy turned around and kept his eyes down, exiting the stage quickly and returning to his seat.

"All right, can I have all my males on stage please!" Mrs. Green took the men and showed them a short movement combination. Bellamy stood in the back of the small group with his arms folded as they practiced. When it came time for them to individually audition the dance, he originally refused. However, one harsh look from Mrs. Green made him change his mind. While his dancing wasn't as fantastic as his singing, he had an innate sense of bodily awareness and movement, probably from skateboarding, that most of the weirder, nerdier boys lacked. Clarke found herself watching Bellamy more than anyone.

When it was the girl's turn, Clarke breezed through the auditions, haven taken several years of jazz, ballet, and tap lessons.

"Thank you! If I call your name, please stay and if I don't, please exit the auditorium immediately. Clarke, Lexa, Harper, Emory, Wells, Jasper, and Bellamy please stay behind. Everyone else, the cast list will be posted tomorrow at lunch. Good luck!" Mrs. Green waited a moment for the room to clear. "Right, I would like to have you all read some scenes for me. Bellamy and Wells, could you read for Sandy and Danny?"

Clarke grinned, "of course." Reading with Wells was easy, even though he felt too preppy to be Danny. Maybe it was because his dad was the principal, or maybe it was because Clarke had known him since they were kindergarteners together, but she couldn't see him seriously pulling off the "bad boy" image.

"Thank you. How about… Bellamy and Lexa. Could you read for Rizzo and Kenickie?"

They began the scene and Bellamy read each line deadpan with his head buried in the script until—

"Mr. Blake, are you trying to be bad at this?"

"No, I think it comes naturally." The students chuckled.

"Clarke, can you change with Lexa please? Wells, please hand the Danny scene to Bellamy. Let's try you as Danny, Bellamy."

Clarke saw Wells' eyes narrow. She walked back onto stage and plopped next to Bellamy. "Try to think of the character. Danny is too cool for school and doesn't want to participate, something you probably relate to." The advice came out as a rush and Bellamy grinned.

"Thanks, princess."

Clarke bristled. "I'm not—"

"Act like a princess, are a princess." He said simply and Clarke's cheeks grew red.

Mrs. Green was watching the pair intently. "The scene, if you don't mind."

"Yes," Clarke said quickly and began her first line. Bellamy was better this time, much better. And as they finished the scene, Clarke panicked for the first time that her perfect vision of senior year may be compromised. Because Wells wasn't going to be cast as Danny. Bellamy was.


	3. A Cast List

**Arcadia High School Drama Department**

Grease Cast List

Sandy… Clarke Griffin

Danny… Bellamy Blake

Rizzo… Lexa Trikru

Kenickie… Jasper Jordan

Frenchy… Harper McIntyre

Roger… Wells Jaha

"You've got to be shitting me." Bellamy said in disbelief as he checked the cast list during lunch.

"Isn't that like, the biggest part?" his friend Nathan asked him pointing to 'Danny.'

Bellamy nodded and Nathan laughed. "You are screwed."

Bellamy shoved Nathan off and let his new reality sink in: he was cast as Danny. This seemingly easy punishment was turning into an encompassing task. He had no idea why he was cast, he had never done drama before. Wells should have gotten the part, and he grimaced thinking of Clarke's reaction. She was going to be pissed.

"Later," Bellamy said to Nathan and headed to the theater. He threw open the doors and climbed onstage to try and find Mrs. Green to talk her out of this insane choice. The theater was creepy without students in it, odd shapes and shadows lurking in the corners. There were stray props littered around the edges of the stage and piles of different fabric in disorganized stacks on the stage.

"Mrs. Green? Mrs. Green!"

"Yes, Bellamy?" Mrs. Green emerged from behind a scrap pile of denim. She smiled at him and Bellamy felt a lurch of guilt for what he was hoping to accomplish. "Congratulations on your role."

"Yeah, that's what I came here to talk to you about," he began tentatively. "I'm not sure if you know, but I have to be in the play. Principal Jaha is making me."

"I'm aware of your circumstances, Bellamy."

"Right, so, I was hoping I could be an extra, or like a tree, or some small—"

"MRS. GREEN!" In a matter of moments, Clarke Griffin rounded the middle aisle of the house looking deeply annoyed. But come to think of it, Clarke always looked annoyed. She took in Bellamy's appearance but decided to ignore it, turning to face Mrs. Green.

"Congratulations, Clarke."

"Thank you. But Mrs. Green, you cannot be serious casting Bellamy as Danny. He has no experience and barely shows up to school—"

"She's right," Bellamy chimed in eagerly. "I was just telling her I wanted to be a tree."

"He would be a great tree!" Clarke exclaimed. "And really, in this racial climate, Mrs. Green, don't you think it would be wonderfully progressive of Arcadia High School to cast a black Danny?"

Bellamy actually laughed out loud before clapping his palm over his mouth. Clarke glared at him.

Mrs. Green looked amused before turning stern. "Bellamy, I cast you in this role because you have a great voice, good movement and already embody the character of Danny. Even if you find the acting a struggle, his lines and reactions should not be a reach. I will be there to coach you. I know you don't want to be here, but you may be pleasantly surprised how enjoyable this is.

"As for you, Clarke, I am disappointed. I was expecting more. I also was hoping you would see this as an opportunity to share your expertise and help out your fellow lead. If not, I don't know if I'll be able to use the first draft of your recommendation letter. I may have to change around a few things…"

"No!" Clarke panicked. "No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Green. I was just… surprised."

Oh, Mrs. Green was good. She ascribed to Clarke's ego and then simultaneously threatened her with a bad recommendation. Bellamy was impressed.

"Good, now that that's settled, I'll see you both at rehearsal tomorrow." Clarke and Bellamy understood themselves to be dismissed and walked out of the auditorium together.

Bellamy broke the silence. "Sorry I took your boyfriend's role."

Clarke snorted, "Wells? He's not my boyfriend."

"Really?" Clarke couldn't see Bellamy's eyebrows under the maroon beanie but assumed they were raised. "Poor guy."

"Excuse me?"

"Wells has obviously been into you since middle school. You forget we share most classes."

"When you bother showing up. And Wells is just my friend," Clarke snapped quickly. Various rumors like this had spread for the past few years and she squashed them as quickly as possible. The rumors made her uncomfortable and worried that Wells did have feelings with her when she had no desire to date Wells or jeopardize their friendship.

"Like I said, poor guy. Who is your boyfriend then, princess?"

Clarke picked up her speed, hoping to shake him off. "Don't have one." She tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone.

"That must be lonely."

They reached the main doors to the art wing. Clarke turned and rested her back against the door. Bellamy popped his hand next to her head and leaned in. She noticed his smell, pleasantly reminding her of the outdoors and rain. The beanie may have pushed his curly hair down to cover his brows, but his eyes were perfectly clear.

"Just because I don't have a boyfriend, doesn't mean I'm lonely." She thrust backwards to open the door with her hips and Bellamy lurched forward as it started to give. "Coming to class?" He regained his footing and shook his head. Clarke rolled her eyes. "See you tomorrow." She turned down the hall and waved without looking at him as she retreated.

She grinned to herself and then wondered, did she just flirt with Bellamy Blake?

Bellamy watched her go until the door clicked shut, he couldn't deny the excellent view she provided. Maybe there was more to Clarke's perfect façade after all. He grinned and turned the opposite direction to leave campus; he usually ditched last period. Art was an elective that he could easily make up work for and pass with minimal effort.

He cast his skateboard down to the pavement and cruised to his place of work, Dropship. It was a space themed kids' pizza palace. His manager, Indra, was not thrilled when he said he needed to cut back hours but understood once he explained. Indra always had a soft spot for Bellamy, and she let him take home the extra pizza free of charge for him and Octavia. He needed three more hours a day for practice, which meant he was losing fifteen hours a week. He agreed to stay an hour later each night and pick up a shift on weekends, but that was still four hours a week cut from his pay.

"It'll work out," Indra promised and he hoped she was right. His mom couldn't hold down a job for more than a few weeks at a time and he paid most of the household bills.

The next morning, Bellamy received an urgent pass to the principal's office.

"I have eyes everywhere, Mr. Blake. Cutting school is not part of the deal. You need to be here, every day, all day, and attend practices. Do I make myself clear?"

Bellamy grunted in agreement. His favorite hobby of being anywhere other than school was suddenly stripped from him and he was wondering if the diploma was really worth it. He entered the theater that afternoon with a sense of dread; he was going to be spending fifteen hours a week here. Probably more if he sucked as much as he did at tryouts.

To Clarke, the first day of rehearsal was routine, but exciting. It always involved passing out scripts and dry run throughs. Mrs. Green would share her vision for the show, which was usually artistic and odd. Clarke's sophomore year they did Midsummer Night's Dream set at Woodstock. Then there was the modern-day Cinderella, and Romeo and Juliet in the jungle. Mrs. Green helped Clarke fall in love with theater and see it as an art form.

The only dark spot today was Wells. His normally sunny disposition was clouded. Although he didn't vocalize it, Clarke knew he was upset with the cast list and expected to be cast as Danny. She tried cheering him up all day, bringing him his favorite Starbucks drink this morning, buying him a cookie at lunch, but none of it worked. He stayed quiet and distant throughout their shared classes and Clarke walked to the theater with him staying a step ahead. She was anticipating practice and she wouldn't let him bring her down.

To Bellamy, the first day of rehearsal felt like the first day of a lifelong prison sentence. Mrs. Green handed him the thick book and he felt a dull thrum of panic somewhere in the background of his consciousness—he had to memorize all of this? He tried to sit in the back of the stage but was pulled to the front by Mrs. Green and forced to sit center next to Clarke.

He chanced a side-glance at her and took in her appearance. He had always thought Clarke to be pretty, in the stuck-up, untouchable way. She was one of the few girls at Arcadia who had a great body but didn't constantly put it on display with short skirts and low cut blouses; she was a jeans-t-shirt-Converse girl, which he could appreciate.

"As most of you know, our musical, Grease, was originally set in the 1950's. While I believe the setting has merit, I want our students and community today to connect with the still relevant messages…"

Bellamy's gaze drifted over again and Clarke's brows were furrowed in concentration. She had a small leather notebook and was writing down phrases like "pressure to conform" and "polarizing stereotypes." Bellamy shook his head slightly and tried to tune back into Mrs. Green's address.

"…so, I think our best choice is to have our setting resemble Arcadia High as much as possible. Today, I want you to spend time with a partner, if you have an opposite they will be your partner, if not, please find one of the same gender. Read through the play together and then make a character bio. Who is your character? Who would they be today? What are their qualities? I'll be around to assist."

Clarke spun toward Bellamy once Mrs. Green stopped speaking. "Let's go to the back," she said enthusiastically.

Do I have a choice? Bellamy thought, but picked up his light backpack, skateboard and play book regardless. She led them through the minefield of props and fabric to the back room behind the stage. "This is the green room," Clarke explained. "The dressing rooms are behind those doors. This is where you get ready and then hang out when you're not on stage during a show." Bellamy nodded and tried to look mildly interested. "Not that you care," Clarke added. Apparently, he wasn't doing a good job.

"I'm here because I have to be," Bellamy said.

"What do you mean?"

"I got in a fight last week—"

"Big surprise," Clarke muttered. Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, keep going."

"I got in a fight with that tool, John Murphy. Principal Jaha said I could either get expelled without a diploma or join a club and graduate."

Clarke whistled. "He saved your skin." Bellamy reluctantly nodded. "Theater is literally saving your life."

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "Okay princess, save it for the stage." He expected Clarke to bristle at the nickname but she took it in stride.

"What did you fight with John Murphy about?"

Bellamy's jaw clenched. "He said some shit about my sister."

Clarke nodded. "He slapped my ass freshman year, I'm not surprised. He's scummy." Bellamy's eyes flashed. He wished he punched Murphy a few more times now. "You don't regret it, do you?"

"Nope."

"I don't blame you." They found two chairs and grabbed seats opposite of one another. "Are you and your sister close?" Clarke asked.

Bellamy felt uneasy. He didn't enjoy talking about his personal life with anyone, not even Nathan whom he considered his best friend. And he used that term loosely. Ever since his dad left at a young age and his mother proved to be a barely more reliable substitute, he detached himself from other people. He didn't need anyone except Octavia. He worked, he paid the bills, he took care of them.

Clarke noticed his silence. "We're going to have to pretend we love each other. It would be easier if I knew something about you."

"So you can fall in love with me?" Bellamy teased.

Clarke rolled her eyes; he enjoyed her constant and easy sarcasm. "All set, thanks. But we'll have more chemistry if we get along in real life."

Bellamy didn't know much about acting, but he could see Clarke's logic. He sighed, "Okay first of all, princess, I like to keep my life private. I don't do twitter, Instagram, Facebook, snapchat or any of that artificial bullshit. Whatever we do talk about, I'd appreciate you keeping it between us."

Clarke was looking at him like she hadn't seen him before and then sat up a bit straighter. "Okay, no problem. I can do that."

"Second of all—"

"So many conditions for one question." Clarke quipped. Bellamy glared.

"I'm not looking for more people in my life. I'm just trying to graduate high school. And after this thing, we'll still be Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake."

Clarke's brows dropped together again. "So don't talk about you and then when the play is done, don't talk to you?"

Bellamy blanched. It sounded terrible when she said it that way. "I'm not saying don't talk to me. Just don't rely on me. I've got enough going on with working, school and this show, I don't have time to be a friend. I'll let you down."

Clarke studied him for a minute. Bellamy was revealing more of himself with these few conditions than he probably would have by answering the original question. And between her dad and Finn, Clarke was used to people being unreliable. At least Bellamy was clear and up front about it. "I'm used to it." She responded truthfully.

Bellamy's eyes were quickly showing themselves to be the most expressive part of him and he looked sad for a moment.

"Don't worry about it," she shrugged before he could say anything.

Just then, Mrs. Green burst into the back room. "How are my lead's doing with the character bios?"

"Haven't started," Clarke said sheepishly. "We've been getting to know each other a bit better."

"That's a smart idea," Mrs. Green praised. "I was going to suggest you two take some time to do that. You can read over the play after you've finished or at home before practice tomorrow." Clarke nodded vigorously. "I would like you each to share five stories or details about yourselves by the end of practice." Bellamy wasn't sure if he could think of five details about himself that were impactful or relevant. "Good luck!" Mrs. Green waved before exiting to the main stage.

Once she left, Bellamy heard Clarke's phone vibrate in her jeans. She quickly pulled out the device and tapped the screen. She shook her head slightly at the contents of whatever message or notification was displayed and clicked it to lock the screen without answering.

"Who was that?" Bellamy asked. "It can be your first story."

Clarke sighed. "It was Finn."

"Collins?"

"Yeah."

"What's the story there? Doesn't he have a girlfriend?" Bellamy was enjoying seeing Clarke squirm and deflecting attention from himself.

"Sometimes. She goes to another school. They're on and off. And when they're off—"

"You and Finn are on." Bellamy concluded.

"Right."

Bellamy frowned. "That doesn't seem like a great arrangement. At least, not for you. For Finn, yeah."

Clarke shrugged. "I don't want a boyfriend. I guess I don't like people relying on me either. Plus, it's senior year and I'm busy trying out for performance programs. I'm going to leave Arcadia after high school, I don't need to put down roots. And Finn is an okay guy. We met at summer camp this past summer and get along well… And other things work out in my favor." Clarke colored a spectacular shade of red.

Bellamy choked on his laughter. "I always painted you as a 'saving yourself for marriage' type."

"I'm a drama kid, not a Jesus freak."

Bellamy held up his hands in mock surrender. "My bad, princess." Clarke was more complex than he gave her credit for. She was more sarcastic and realistic than he

pictured, and apparently serious about pursuing art after high school, which he respected.

"Okay, now tell me about your sister. Octavia, right?"

"Yeah. She's a sophomore and tends to attract trouble. Most of the time I'm fighting someone for saying or doing something to her."

"What about your parents?"

Bellamy considered challenging that was a second question but he answered regardless. "Dad was out of the picture when I was young. My mom has got a bunch of

issues. She's around, but not much."

Clarke studied him. "So you're kind of on your own."

"Right… What about your parents?"

Clarke took a breath. "My dad is in jail and my mom works so much I barely see her." Bellamy tried to keep the look of surprise off his face, but his jaw popped open. "Yeah, how many princesses have imprisoned fathers?"

"Uh, not many."

"My mom and dad were partners at their own law firm. A few years ago, the finances were flagged for embezzlement. Millions of dollars disappearing off the books. Turns out my mom was behind it. The foreign bank accounts, the forged documents… but my dad took the fall for her. Said she was acting for him. He thought I needed my mother more than him." Clarke couldn't keep the acid out of her words.

"He was wrong?" Bellamy guessed.

"He was wrong," Clarke agreed. "The tension sucks so she just works constantly. We see each other a few hours on weekends."

Bellamy marveled at how different and yet similar their situations were. Clarke, on paper, had a much easier life than Bellamy. She had wealth, two parents that she knew, and no siblings to care for. But at the core, they were both loners.

"You're kind of on your own too," Bellamy said softly.

Clarke looked directly into his eyes and he noticed how dark the blue rings around her irises were for the first time. "Yeah."

And in the matter of a half hour, Bellamy and Clarke went from practically strangers to friends. Because when you're cut from the same cloth as someone else, when you find a second piece of your puzzle, you don't cast it out. Not when so few people have understood before.

You hold on.


	4. A Party

Bellamy wasn't dreading his second practice as much as the first; if all he had to do was talk to Clarke Griffin, this would be easy. He filed into the auditorium and spotted her platinum blonde head from the back of the room. She was seated in the fourth row, one seat in. Wells sat to her other side, but he had a small feeling she left the aisle seat for him. He tucked his skateboard under his arm and plopped next to her.

"Hey," she smiled at him. Bellamy nodded in response.

"Hey, Wells," he acknowledged.

Wells looked at him and then nodded reluctantly. Wells turned back to the front and Clarke looked to Bellamy with pleading eyes and whispered, "Sorry." Bellamy shrugged it off.

Unfortunately, getting know Clarke Griffin was _not_ all drama practice entailed.

"Today we're going to do vocals for our first group number. Let's split into parts please: sopranos, altos, base, tenor. Then our two leads up at the front please." Mrs. Green pointed her fingers like an airline stewardess reviewing safety instructions.

"That's us," Clarke reminded Bellamy.

"Got it," he replied. Clarke waved to Wells as she exited the row and he went to join his fellow bases. Wells ignored Clarke's goodbye and exited the row the opposite direction. Bellamy felt angry as he saw Clarke's slightly put out expression. If Wells wanted to take out his frustration, he should take it out on Bellamy, not Clarke.

"Right, so let's listen to the track first." Mrs. Green eagerly played the boppy "Summer Nights" song. Twice. Bellamy hated it already, and he wondered how he would feel after hearing it repetitively for three months. He recalled seeing _Grease_ once in middle school; Octavia forced him to watch it. The plot points were still a little hazy, even after reading through (most) of the script last practice. He should probably give it another viewing.

"I'm going to work with the chorus, Clarke do you mind plunking out notes for you and Bellamy in the green room?"

"No problem." She hopped to her feet and tapped Bellamy's shoulder before he fully comprehended the direction.

"You play piano?" He asked.

"Mmmhm. If you want to advance in the music world it's helpful." She explained.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

Clarke blushed; it was a good look on her. "Basketball. Tennis. Anything that requires hand-eye coordination."

Bellamy liked that he had her beat on something. "I've got you there, princess."

"Yeah yeah. Listen to your part." Clarke pushed out Bellamy's notes slowly and although it

wasn't as easy as the Star Spangled Banner, he managed to get the hang of it after a few tries.

"Some of these notes are high." Bellamy remarked.

"I know. It'll get easier the more you warm up and practice. You have a great natural range, you should be able to hit them no problem." Clarke nodded and then played her notes.

He watched her strong jaw open softly as she sung her lines. Her neck was delicate with her waves pulled back into a low bun for concentration. Bellamy had never studied her this closely before.

"Both of us now. I'm just going to play your part because I'm not _that _good."

Bellamy smirked and followed along well enough. After one full run through, his phone vibrated.

**Nathan: Party tn at Lincoln's. Come.**

Bellamy rolled his eyes. Nathan always tried to entice him out, and Bellamy always had to work (or made up an excuse to avoid the fray).

"Do you even get text messages on that dinosaur?" Clarke asked nodding to the flip phone.

"Yup. Don't need it for much else."

Clarke laughed. "Of course Mr. Off the Grid. What's up?"

"Nathan wants me to go to some party tonight."

"Lincoln's?"

"Yeah, you going?" Bellamy asked.

"Finn invited me." Clarke looked down at the ivory keys.

"Ahh, prince charming."

She snorted. "Hardly. You going?"

"I work." Bellamy said simply.

"Where?"

"Dropship."

"The kid's pizza place?" Clarke grinned.

"Yeah, shut up. I don't sing for birthdays and I don't clean the vomit out of the play place, so there's very little to make fun of."

Clarke nodded her head in a way that made him sure she didn't believe him. "You could come after."

"Or I could, I don't know, sleep."

"Sorry, grandpa. My fault."

Bellamy planned to retort when Mrs. Green called them back to join the rest of the cast. The first run through of the song was bad. Bellamy wasn't used to all the backup vocals or the extra instruments. But again, he picked it up quickly. Mrs. Green nodded in approval at the end of practice. "Have a good weekend! Practice!"

When Clarke got home from rehearsal, the house was empty. _As per usual_, she thought. Her and Abby (she refused to call her mom), had a scheduled lunch tomorrow. Once a weekend Abby would add a lunch to Clarke's schedule and it would _ping!_ on her iCal as the week winded down. Clarke rolled her eyes and got out ingredients to cook an easy dinner of chicken and pasta.

She ate her meal in silence while binge watching a few episodes of Netflix's latest comic book series before it reached a reasonable time to get ready for the party. Finn was picking her up at 9:30 and she began her ritual an hour before.

Clarke wasn't someone who invested a lot of time into getting ready each morning, but she did make an effort when going out. She curled her already wavy hair and added touches of makeup. She pulled out her few skirts and chose the high-waist denim with a white crop top. She added a choker, because the 90's style had come back full force this year at Arcadia High. She then slipped on her cleanest pair of Converse (bright red) and called it a day. Clarke refused to be uncomfortable in heels; at a party no one was looking at her feet anyway.

She took a small shoulder bag and threw in her phone and few 20s (just in case). She jotted a hasty note to Abby:

_Dear Mom,_ (Abby didn't know that in Clarke's head they were on a first name basis)

_Out for the night with a couple of friends. Be home before morning. _

_Clarke_

Then, she sat on her couch again and proceeded to wait until her phone vibrated.

**Finn 9:47**

**Here.**

Clarke could be annoyed Finn was late, but she didn't care deeply enough about him to be offended by his behavior. Instead she walked out to the car and smiled as she got in his beat up Honda civic.

"Hey, Griffin."

"Hey," Clarke said back and immediately reached for the AUX chord to play something other than the Top 40 radio station bopping pleasantly in the background. She clicked to the latest Lumineers album and nodded along to the beat of one of their more uptempo songs.

"God, how do you listen to this?" Finn complained.

"What, decent music?" Clarke shot back.

"It's so slow! We're going to a PARTY, Clarke. Not a bookstore." He clicked back over to the radio and Chris Brown's latest hit echoed through the speakers.

Clarke rolled her eyes and kept silent, placing her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"Hey," he said looking a little concerned.

"Yeah?"

"You have terrible taste in music but you look great." Clarke smiled despite herself.

After a few minutes they pulled into Lincoln's already crowded driveway. "Ready?" Finn asked.

"Guess so," Clarke agreed. Parties weren't her cup of tea, but unfortunately it's what kids her age did to entered and were hit with a strong scent of weed, alcohol and stale, hot air from many bodies. "Woah," Clarke noted.

"Yeah, we must have gotten here at the perfect time," Finn smiled. "Drink?"

"Sure," Clarke said.

"Meet you in the living room."

Clarke nodded and decided to do a lap. Every party was the same; there were the couples gyrating in the middle of the dance floor, the group of jocks steadfastly holding their place by the keg with beer pong or some other drinking game set up. Then, the extra long line for the bathroom, the popular girls that stood in small clusters on the edges of room to survey the scene and talk about people passing by, and the socially awkward people that somehow found the party and make unfunny comments from the center of the room. She waved at a few people from classes, but didn't stop to talk to anyone. Wells was her best friend and he rarely came out. The only time Clarke did was when Finn asked her to.

"For the lady." Finn handed her a cup of frothy, warm beer.

"Thanks," Clarke said and they sat down on the loveseat pushed against the wall of the living room. The chatted aimlessly about their weeks and a few of the drunker party guests.

"So things with Raven?" Clarke asked once Finn had drained two cups of alcohol.

"Not good. I'm pretty sure we're done this time, for real. She got jealous over the stupidest thing…"

Clarke tried to focus on Finn, but saw a girl stumble into the room and nearly fall. When she put her head upright, Clarke noticed it was Octavia Blake. Lincoln, a senior on the soccer team and host of the party, rushed in and looped his arm under her shoulders to keep her steady. Clarke wondered idly if Bellamy was aware his little sister was currently drunk at a senior party.

"...I don't know. I'm over it. I don't want to talk about her, I'm here with you," Finn finished, but Clarke knew he wasn't sincere. Finn did love Raven. And even if he liked Clarke's body and thought she was fun to hang out with, he didn't care for her the way he did for Raven. As Wells frequently noted, and Bellamy did the first day of practice, it wasn't a great relationship for Clarke to maintain. But, it was what she wanted. Clarke got to have fun and keep Finn at arms length.

"That you are," Clarke said in a low voice.

"Wanna dance?"

"Sure."

Finn pulled her up by the fingers and against him on the edge of the crowd. Clarke let her hands slide up around his neck and pressed her legs in between his. He traced his fingers down her sides until they rested on Clarke's hips and gripped them tightly. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feeling of his warm body and swayed to the base of the music. She turned around so her back pressed on his chest and traced her hand down his neck. The feeling was intoxicating and-

"Finn?!" A shriek came from the corner of the room. Clarke's eyes snapped open and saw an enraged Raven (recognized from instagram and facebook) standing in the doorway. Finn dropped his hands and stepped away from Clarke.

"What the hell are you doing? We broke up _yesterday_ and you've already got your hands around some slut?"

Clarke's cheeks flushed red and Finn stepped in front of her. "Hey, leave Clarke out of this-"

"Clarke? So that's the girl who pops up on your phone. This all makes so much more sense!" Clarke's eyes widened. She always assumed part of the "getting back together" process with Raven involved Finn confessing his fling with Clarke, but apparently he never had. Raven had no idea Finn was involved with Clarke. Not now, not ever. Suddenly, the room felt hot and small. The music stopped and people were eagerly watching the drama unfold.

"I'm gunna go…" Clarke said quietly and started to back out of the middle circle. A sharp grip landed on her arm.

Raven pulled her back. "What the fuck is your problem? There are no guys at Arcadia High? You need to take someone else's boyfriend?"

"Raven, enough!" Finn shouted and attempted to step in between the girls.

"We've been sleeping together for eight months," Clarke spat. Raven let go of Clarke's arm in shock. Raven looked up to Finn and then back to Clarke. Before Clarke understood what was happening, a slap stung across her left cheek. The onlookers gasped and then laughed. Raven stormed out of the room and Finn stood by Clarke clutching her cheek.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry.." but he was distracted. His eyes were glued to the door Raven exited from and for the first time, Clarke truly felt she was second place to someone else.

"Go," Clarke said, gently removing Finn's hand from her face. She took a step back and Finn didn't move towards her.

"Are you-?"

"We're done here," Clarke said finally. And Finn's eyes fell, realizing Clarke's true meaning.

She backed out of the room and fled down the hallway, out the door. She stepped over abandoned plastic cups to exit the yard. The cool March air hit her exposed limbs, but she crossed her arms and ignored the goosebumps.

Clarke pulled out her phone and scrolled to Wells' name. She clicked the phone icon and listened to the line ring. He didn't pick up. Clarke let out a groan of frustration. She let Wells know she was going to the party, and usually when she went out he would stay up for a while incase she needed a ride; he never trusted Finn to be sober enough to take them home. Judging his sour mood this week, Clarke was guessing his offer expired. Although she didn't make the cast list, and she didn't decide to be an on-stage couple with Bellamy, he was still taking it out on her.

Clarke could call Abby, but then she would be forced to sit in a car and explain what she had been doing out in the first place. Plus, her breath probably smelled like beer. She wasn't drunk, but her mom would panic. Clarke enjoyed the amount of freedom she currently had and didn't want Abby to tighten the reigns. There were acquaintances from school, but no one Clarke knew well enough to ask for a ride at 11:23 on a Friday night. Bellamy crossed Clarke's mind, but she never got his number.

She nodded her head resolutely: she was walking. The party was only a few miles from her house, if she hustled she could be home in an hour. Even though some of the side streets were dodgy, she could avoid them by taking a few longer routes.

Only when she had decided on a course of action did she let tears prickling behind her eyes fall. Her cheek still stung red, but that was minor nuisance compared to how she felt when Finn attempted to comfort her as he looked for Raven. She always knew Finn didn't like her as much as the other girl, but it was another thing to see Raven in person and see Finn react to her. She felt stupid and insignificant. She mentally berated herself as she walked down the sidewalk and away from the dying noise of the party.

Meanwhile, Bellamy's night had been dull. He pulled six hours at Dropshift and then made his way home to eat pizza and relax. His mom was god knew where and Octavia left a note:

_Going to the movies with some girlfriends and sleeping over! See you in the morning! _

_Xoxo Octavia_

Bellamy was glad Octavia had friends. She was always the more social of the two of them and he wanted her to create a network of people to support her; he was enough of a loner for both of them.

He was just settling in to watch something on TV when his archaic phone lit up.

**Nate 11:01**

**Dude, come to Lincoln's**

**Bellamy 11:02**

**Nah I'm crashing soon**

**Nate 11:05**

**Octavia's here**

Bellamy felt his blood run cold: Octavia lied to him. They were always incredibly close, and to his knowledge she never lied to him before… Why did she start now? He was standing with his keys in his hand before he realized what he was doing.

**Bellamy 11:07**

**Omw… address?**

Nate texted back the address and Bellamy took off in his used truck. A few minutes into the ride he received another message.

**Nate 11:16**

**Clarke Griffin just got SLAPPED !**

"Shit," Bellamy swore under his breath. Nathan didn't know Bellamy and Clarke had become friendly, so he was sending that text as a form of shocking gossip, but Bellamy was concerned. He turned onto Lincoln's street and saw none other than Clarke Griffin herself rounding the corner, hugging her arms to her chest. He pulled over and threw on the car's hazards, jumped out of of the driver's seat and waved.

"Clarke!"

She turned around and he could see the faint red mark on her cheek and glistening tears down her face. Her pain triggered an instant flare of protectiveness, he wanted to know what happened and he wanted (needed) to help.

"Bellamy?"

"Hop in." She hesitated for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat.

"What-?" he asked immediately

"Not yet. I need a minute," Clarke cut him off. She sniffled and wiped the hair out of her face. She took a deep breath and looked like she was willing herself to keep it together.

Bellamy frowned. "Okay… Did you see Octavia in there?"

Clarke nodded. "Yeah, she looked pretty out of it… I think Lincoln was helping her? I'm sorry it got crazy... " she faded away.

They arrived to the driveway and Bellamy parked on the end of it. He turned to Clarke and touched her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." He took a breath. He was calm in intense situations from putting out so many of his mom's fires. "You stay in the car, I'm going to go get my sister. We'll leave here, hopefully before I end up fighting someone."

Clarke nodded, the tears had mostly stopped. "I don't mind helping."

Bellamy looked at her skeptically. Her cheek still glowed pink under the street lights. "That's okay. I have Nathan, he's going to help me grab her. Maybe clear off the back seat? We'll put her back there."

Clarke nodded, enjoying the concrete task she was given to focus on.

"I'll be right back," Bellamy promised. Before he exited the car, he grabbed her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. For a guy who didn't want friends, he was very comforting. Clarke nodded, and he disappeared into the lawn. Clarke didn't watch his progress toward the house, she didn't want to turn her eyes back to that stupid party. She was glad he didn't have her come back in as well; she only offered because she had nothing else to offer him for his act of kindness.

Bellamy bellowed through the lawn like a pissed off rhino, ignoring the trashed cups and random drunk kids sitting or laying around. He kept flexing his fingers trying to release the pent up aggression that was telling him to attack. Attack this Lincoln kid for being near his sister, attack Finn for being such a selfish dick, or attack anyone who got in his way-he wasn't feeling particularly choosy.

It didn't take him long to reach the nucleus of the party in the living room and saw Octavia slumped into Lincoln's shoulder on the couch. She seemed to be unconscious and he was looking concernedly down at her, petting her hair. Nathan saw Bellamy enter and linked up to his side.

"I'm taking my sister home." Bellamy boomed and Lincoln actually jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Of course, man. She threw up, I gave her some water and…"

"Shut your goddamn mouth." Bellamy snapped. He bent down and looped his arms under her, lifting her like a limp, drunken princess. Lincoln relinquished control of her immediately.

As Bellamy started to step away, Octavia stirred. "Hey… put me… ground… on ground…" Bellamy rolled his eyes. Octavia started thrashing, making it difficult to carry her.

"Nathan!" Bellamy yelled.

"Behind you, boss." Bellamy nodded to his side and Nathan appeared, ready to loop his arm under Octavia and help support her as they lowered her to the ground. And with both young men, they easily supported the weight of one drunk girl. Really, they _should_ have made it effortlessly to the truck, helped her into the backseat and Bellamy could have driven them all home.

Except…

Except as the trio was shuffling toward the exit, Finn Collins was next to the front door, engaged in a fierce lip-lock with Raven Rayes, and pressing their bodies into the wall.

Finn Collins who came to this party with Clarke Griffin.

Finn Collins who fucked Clarke just to discard her like an old tissue the second Raven called him up. (Clarke may be sometimes holier-than-thou and annoying, but didn't deserve that. No matter how okay with it she claimed to be.)

Finn Collins who saw Clarke get slapped and humiliated by the same girl he was kissing.

Finn Collins who clearly had no sense of decency or honor.

"Get Octavia to the truck," Bellamy said in a dangerous voice. Nathan looked over at his best friend and saw the fixed gaze on Finn.

"Dude, you do not—"

"Get her to the truck." His tone silenced Nathan. He took more of a controlled stance and shifted Octavia to bare all her weight. Bellamy waited until they were outside before he tapped Finn on the shoulder. Finn pulled away from Raven and turned to face him.

"Yeah?"

"You're an asshole for what you did to Clarke. And to her too—" Bellamy pointed to Raven. "And by the way, if he did it once, he'll fuck someone else again so maybe you shouldn't be jumping back on it." Raven looked at the floor.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Finn declared. Bellamy could tell by his lack of eye focus that he was quite intoxicated. "Also, why the fuck do you care?"

"Because Clarke is a good person." Bellamy answered quickly, before he could think. "And she didn't deserve your shit."

"Clarke is a slut," Finn said simply.

Before thinking, Bellamy pulled back his fist, like he had done so many times before, and punched Finn across the face. He went down quickly, not alert enough to retaliate. Bellamy shook out his hand and then stepped to the left and out the door. He walked in large steps to his car and entered without looking back.

"Everything okay?" Clarke asked as Bellamy threw the pick-up into gear and peeled out of the drive way. She spotted red on his right hand gripping the steering wheel.

"Here's what we're going to do. We're going to go to my place and put Octavia in her bed. Then, we're going to heat up Dropship pizza and talk about things. But for this drive, I'm going to be silent. Okay?"

Clarke looked taken aback. "Okay."

Bellamy nodded and cranked up the stereo, leaving them both to their thoughts.


	5. An Apartment

Octavia Blake was objectively a beautiful young lady. She was only a sophomore, but captured the interest of many older male students. Exhibit A: Lincoln, the senior soccer captain.

However, Octavia Blake was not beautiful when hunched over a toilet bowl, spilling the contents of her stomach.

Once they arrived to the apartment complex Clarke assumed housed the Blakes, Bellamy carried Octavia through the living room and attempted to reach the bedroom, but stopped once she started coughing and pushed herself down, bolting for the bathroom.

Clarke followed behind and hung in the threshold of the small apartment, unsure of her status. She took in the kitchen and living space, noting the left door led to the bathroom and a small hallway had three doors branching off, naturally leading to sleeping quarters. The kitchen was small and dimly lit, but incredibly clean. The sink was a pristine white and nothing sat on the counters. The living room was equally tidy with one couch, one chair and a large TV sitting directly on the ground. She couldn't help but compare the apartment to her own house, and thought of the extravagant amounts of space her and her mother shared; it was obscene and unnecessary.

Clarke finished her survey and realized Bellamy was hovering outside the bathroom door, but not venturing inside. "Letting her learn a lesson?" Clarke joked.

Bellamy turned and his face looked pale. "I hate vomit."

"Don't you work at a kid's pizza playscape?"

"I told you, I don't do vomit duty. I can't."

Clarke rolled her eyes and shut the front door behind her. "Move."

Bellamy put his hands up and scooted to the left. Clarke gently knocked on the bathroom door and entered before Octavia had the chance to respond.

The good news was Octavia's aim was true and there was no residual mess. However, her hair was sticking to her forehead in a cold sweat that Clarke was sure must be uncomfortable. She pulled the extra hair tie off her wrist and gently gathered the hair off the younger girl's neck and face, twisting it into a loose bun.

"Thanks," Octavia whispered.

"No problem," Clarke said. "How are you feeling?"

Octavia raised her arm to show a thumbs up.

Clarke laughed, "Stupid question. Do you need to throw up more?"

Octavia shook her head.

"Okay, good." Clarke got up and found mouthwash and face wipes among the assorted contents under the bathroom sink. She gently rubbed Octavia's makeup off and ordered her to swish the mouthwash. Octavia spat it into the toilet after a few seconds. Close enough. Clarke was careful to make sure the toilet was flushed and Octavia looked presentable before calling to Bellamy for him to help with transportation. He looked relieved when taking in the bathroom's innocuous state.

"Time for bed," Bellamy said, gently lifting Octavia. "Meet me in the kitchen?" Bellamy said to Clarke and she nodded, forgetting their agreement to eat and talk.

Clarke sat at the small dining table and again noted its simple, clean style. Bellamy returned several seconds later. "Your house is so-"

"Small?" Bellamy offered.

"Clean." Clarke countered.

Bellamy turned and began rummaging through the refrigerator for leftover pizza. "Well, we've been evicted from a place or two, and when my mom is in charge of the house work we never get our security deposit back." He said this matter-of-factly and popped a plate of pizza into the microwave.

"So you clean?"

"Octavia helps." Bellamy added, watching the plate spin in microwave's light.

"Did you know she was going to the party?"

Clarke noted Bellamy's jaw clench. "No. Otherwise I would have gone right away."

Clarke nodded, that made sense.

"I just don't get it." The microwave dinged and he put the plate in front of Clarke, starting a second cycle for himself. "She's never lied before. And she's never been the trashy, drunk girl at a party."

"She likes a boy," Clarke sighed. "And you have a habit of punching boys that talk to her."

Bellamy considered her comment. "True. But I just wish she would have let me know so I could watch out for her."

"You can't control other people," Clarke said gently; she knew from experience. No matter how much she pleaded with her dad, she couldn't stop him from accepting the blame for her mother's crimes.

"You sound like my anger management class." Bellamy snorted, bringing his plate of pizza over and joining Clarke at the table.

Clarke was surprised; she didn't know Bellamy was taking anger management classes. "What would your class say about your hand?" Clarke asked quietly. Bellamy's knuckles were still red and the middle was split, dried blood caked around the injury.

"Let me get that," she added and got up to wet a paper towel. She came back and dabbed at the wound.

Bellamy took the paper towel from her hand and held it against the cut himself. "It's not a big deal."

"It will be a very big deal if Principal Jaha finds out."

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

"He won't talk. He's too much of a coward."

"Lincoln? He's a soccer star! People will notice on Monday when he comes in with a black eye, Bellamy-"

"I didn't punch Lincoln," Bellamy said and took a bite of pizza, moving his eyes to stare at the table.

"What?"

"I punched Finn." Clarke put down the piece of pepperoni she was about to bite and blinked her eyes to make sure she was processing this information correctly.

"You punched Finn Collins?"

"Yes."

She buried her head in her hands. Perfect. Not only did Clarke admit to sleeping with a taken guy for 8 months in front of a crowd, she was slapped. THEN, the school's resident bad boy defended her honor and punched Finn. She could only imagine the ridiculous love square the school would concoct by Monday.

Bellamy's hand gently brushed against her wrist, "hey. I'm sorry." Clarke allowed her hand to be pulled into his. "I saw him with Raven and I just lost it. This night was a bit more than my self control allotted for, and I'm sorry if it made you feel worse." He stared at her so earnestly, she found herself letting go of the bunched up anxiety.

"This is a mess I made." Clarke said finally. "Not you."

"I didn't help," Bellamy grinned and returned to devouring his pizza.

"But you did. I'm stupid but he deserved a slap."

"Punch," Bellamy corrected.

"A punch, right." Clarke could feel the tension slip out of her shoulders as she sat and easily joked with Bellamy, eating lukewarm leftover pizza in a small kitchen.

"What are friends for." Bellamy shrugged.

Clarke raised her eyebrows. "You told me not to be your friend a week ago."

"That was before you held my sister's hair while puking so I didn't have to."

Clarke laughed. "That's it? That's the marker of friendship?" Bellamy stared at her lips and how they curled around her laugh; it was intoxicating. He wanted to be the one to make Clarke laugh forever.

He just smiled and nodded. They sat at the table and talked about the beginning of their nights. Bellamy's presence took away the sting enough for Clarke to tell about her humiliation with a tilt of humor and Bellamy re-enacted the ridiculous antics of Dropship customer's and their children.

"It's two," Clarke noted, staring at the small clock on top of the stove.

"Shit, I can drive you home." Bellamy yawned.

"I feel bad…" Clarke countered, only partially true. In reality, Clarke didn't want to return to her too big house and contemplate how empty it felt without her father. Being in Bellamy's small apartment feeling so cared for made her realize how cold her own dwelling with Abby was. She provided Bellamy with an opening, and she would patiently wait to see his reaction.

Bellamy was unsure of Clarke's intention. She very clearly just stopped seeing (and having sex with, a jealous voice reminded him) Finn; was she trying to make a move on Bellamy? Was she trying for a rebound? Or was it more innocent? Bellamy thought Clarke was beautiful, especially since he had the chance to study her up close. Not to mention her tank top and short skirt left little to his imagination. He also was thoroughly impressed with her talent… her drive… her humor… her resilience… But him, bloody knuckled, and her, sore cheeked, was not the way to come together.

"You could…" Bellamy hesitated, "...stay." Clarke smiled and Bellamy's heart soared.

"I mean, we don't have a lot of space. But you can take my bed and I'll take the couch."

Clarke's heart ached a little with his sweetness. When was the last time a boy offered to make any sacrifice for her, no matter how small? Finn wouldn't even concede a radio channel for her.

"I'll take the couch!" Clarke offered quickly but Bellamy shook his head.

"My mom might stumble in, I don't want her to be surprised and drunk. That's a bad combination for her."

Bellamy's mom was a subject they carefully skirted around, other than his comments that led Clarke to believe she was much worse than Abby. Clarke didn't want to push him; their friendship was so new. It had been ages since she really let someone into her life and she didn't want to compromise it so early.

"Do you… do you want to share? I don't mind," Clarke added quickly, holding her breath. If he didn't think she was hitting on him before, he probably did now. Honestly, it wasn't Clarke's intention. Bellamy was attractive, but wore far too much black and cut too much school for him to be her type. He also was caring… protective… angry… and many other adjectives she was still sorting through. She just wanted company and reassurance someone cared.

Bellamy swallowed. This whole night was one test of restraint after another. "It's a twin, princess. I would flatten you. The couch is fine."

Clarke smiled and ignored the small pull of rejection. "If you say so."

They cleaned their dishes and he lead her down the hallway to the furthest door. Bellamy's room was sparse with a Smith's poster on the wall, a twin bed, neat dresser and skateboard leaning against the closet door. Clarke also noted with amusement he had four pairs of vans lined up against the end of the bed: gray, black, maroon and navy.

"Let me get you a shirt," Bellamy said dutifully, fishing in his top drawer and tossing the found article into Clarke's hands.

"Black. How did I know?" Clarke teased. Bellamy grimaced and stood uncomfortably as Clarke surveyed the place.

"Your room is very you," Clarke concluded.

"This is terrible. I demand to judge your room while you stand and watch."

"That can be arranged." Clarke said quickly before thinking of the double meaning in her words. Again.

"Another night. Sleep well, princess."

Clarke didn't hate the nickname anymore. She didn't hate it at all. "Goodnight, Bellamy Blake." Clarke said smiling. He turned to leave. "Bellamy?" Clarke said before he could close the door.

"Yeah?" He stepped back in.

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded in recognition before closing the door gently.

Clarke pulled off her party clothes and slipped into the well worn black fabric. The shirt smelled like him and she smiled when she wrapped the bed's blankets around her shoulders. Surrounded by Bellamy Blake; not the worst way to fall asleep.


	6. A Favor

**Clarke 6:15am**

**I don't need a ride today.**

Wells glanced at the message quickly while he brushed his teeth. He slowed his motions and felt a twinge of guilt. On Saturday he woke up to a missed call from Clarke late the night before, and knew she probably needed a ride.

Wells had a crush on Clarke since they were 13. One day she was his best friend and video game partner, and the next she had turned into a _girl_. A really cool girl.

As they got older, Clarke always found someone to distract her and came crying to Wells when the boy (or girl, in Lexa's case) disappointed her. Wells considered vocalizing his feelings, but it became clear Clarke never pictured them as anything more than friends; why tell her and make things weird when she inevitably rejected him? At least this way he had her friendship and company.

But it did get exhausting-watching Clarke flit from person to person and waiting up night after night to see if she needed him. And this weekend, when Clarke went to another party with Finn, Wells decided to fall asleep listening to music and silenced his ringer.

Yes

**Wells 9:33am**

**Hey sorry I didn't get your call. I passed out early last night. What's up?**

**Wells 4:52pm**

**Haven't heard back… you ok?**

**Wells 8:59pm**

**Wanna go to a movie or hang tonight?**

**Wells 11:21pm**

…

Clearly he was getting the silent treatment. And now, apparently she found alternative transportation to school. Wells drove Clarke to school every day since he got his license the year before.

He finished brushing his teeth and grimly threw his backpack over his shoulders. Today was going to suck.

Clarke sent Wells the text she wouldn't be riding with him and shoved the phone in her pocket to remove temptation from her thumbs.

After Clarke spent the night Friday at Bellamy's, the next morning the pair made fun of Octavia's hangover and cooked stacks of pancakes to eat for a late breakfast. Octavia retreated to her dark room while Bellamy and Clarke hung out in the living room laughing and talking; conversation between the two was easy. When Bellamy had to go to work, he dropped Clarke back home.

The house was empty. Again.

She texted her mom that morning to let her know she was safe and ended up crashing at a girlfriend's house for the night. Abby sent back a smiley face and said "hope you had fun!" Their lives were entirely disconnected from one another. Thinking of Abby made Clarke note that Bellamy's mom hadn't appeared last night or this morning either. She wondered if it was common place for the Blakes to live days on end with no check in from their mom. Her and Bellamy had more in common than she originally thought.

Which is why when Bellamy asked if she wanted a ride to school Monday, she agreed. If Wells wanted to be in his feelings about the casting, she would let him. Clarke had taken too much bullshit from people lately to indulge him.

Clarke heard a beep and pulled herself out of her thoughts to look outside. Bellamy's old truck was in the driveway and she raced downstairs.

"Bye, mom!" She called.

Abby was next to the front door, looking impeccable and intimidating. Her black power suit was offset by a red shirt and her long dirty blond hair was twisted into a tight bun. "We're out at the same time today. That's not Wells' car, is it?" She glanced out the door and frowned.

"No," Clarke admitted, bending down to pull on her Converse. "It's Bellamy. He's playing the Danny to my Sandy in the play."

Abby smiled knowingly, "Are you interested?"

"He's a friend." Clarke said, refusing to give into Abby's attempt at gossip or bonding.

"Well, have a good day at school." Abby reached out and clutched Clarke's wrist; the closest they could get to a hug.

"Yup," Clarke said and rushed out of the door.

Clarke expected to sit behind the Blake siblings, but was surprised to see the passenger seat empty. Once she was closer, Clarke could see Octavia sullenly sitting in the small backseat.

"Morning," Bellamy said.

"Morning. Octavia you can sit in the front, if you want." Clarke offered.

Octavia glared at her older brother. "Bellamy said I can't."

"Seniors ride shotgun."

Clarke laughed as Octavia buried her face behind her phone screen.

"How are you today, princess?"

Clarke swallowed and her throat felt incredibly dry. "Well… it can't be worse than Friday."

"Good outlook," Bellamy nodded.

"It was all over Snapchat," Octavia added.

"Not helping, O."

She shrugged, "it was."

"The teenage attention span is short." Clarke grimaced. It was sweet of Bellamy to try and make her feel better (it actually made facing the day seem bearable), but she meant what it said. This was her mess, and she needed to clean it up.

They arrived to the school lot and Octavia took off without a goodbye.

"Is she mad?"

"Yeah, I laid into her about the drinking and the guy."

"Lincoln," Clarke supplied.

"Right. She's not happy with me." Bellamy easily slipped his arm around Clarke's shoulders and she didn't question it. He felt nice and secure, her small frame slipping under his lanky one.

The pair managed to walk to the school's front gate before Clarke froze. Of course, she knew the world didn't revolve around her, but Arcadia was a small town. The news of Clarke and Finn (and Bellamy by extension) must have reached every corner of the campus.

"We can always drive away instead," he whispered, bending over toward her ear.

"You'll get expelled!"

Bellamy shrugged. "If Finn snitches I'll be expelled anyway."

Clarke considered that. "Don't worry. He won't; I'll make sure of it."

Bellamy looked at her with a disapproving grin. "Don't talk to the asshole for my benefit."

"I've got it," Clarke dismissed.

Bellamy cocked his head, "whatever you say. Shall we?"

Clarke nodded and braced herself for the school's reactions. Bellamy and her had three out of six class periods together, something she rarely noticed prior to the play because he was always ditching. However, today she was incredibly thankful for this fact, because in each class he sat dutifully next to her and dared anyone to throw a comment their way.

His slightly too long hair covered his thick eyebrows and he was donning the traditional black shirt and grey jeans with his maroon Vans. Not to mention his knuckles were still obviously red and swollen. The whole look was dark and oozed an air of "fuck off" that Clarke benefitted from.

No one said anything to her directly, but everywhere she went there were whispers in her wake. The hushed tones of people trying to discretely gossip about someone in their presence. She was a social pariah, a scarlet letter and more of an outcast than usual. The last time she was the center of gossip was when her and Lexa's relationship became public. People had debated, behind her back, about her sexuality and how _it_ all worked.

By sixth period, Clarke was happy to be in her art class. Bellamy was sitting next to her; this had been the class he skipped the most over the year and she was still getting accustomed to his presence.

Today they were drawing still life, a table full of aged knick-knacks sat in the center of the room. Clarke focused on the old chess pieces; her and her dad used to play chess all the time. She still brought a board whenever she went to visit him in jail and she set it up on her side of the glass. He would use a phone to tell her his moves. It was easy to lose herself in the lines and small segments of a whole image; she drew until the memories were all gone and there were only slashes and shadows.

"Fuck," Bellamy whispered in her ear halfway through the class.

Clarke jumped at the sudden noise. "What?"

"Can you suck at something? Please? I feel like shit around you."

Clarke rolled her eyes, but smiled as she put her charcoal back to paper. "I slept with someone else's boyfriend for eight months, does that count?"

Bellamy pretended to ponder this. "You bring up an interesting point-"

"Mr. Blake!" The art teacher barked. "Perhaps if you turned your attention to your own canvas you could complete your first assignment of the year."

"Yes, ma'am." Bellamy answered, but grinned at Clarke. For someone who was in anger management classes and beat the snot out of multiple classmates, Bellamy was never disrespectful to authority figures. He never had been a class disruption or bickered with a teacher. Bellamy hated stupid teenage boys, and Clarke didn't blame him.

As the pair walked from the art wing to the theater, Clarke saw her least favorite stupid boy marching to the student lot. "Be right back," she said to Bellamy. He followed her eyes and saw her path to Finn.

"Clarke, it's not worth it. If he didn't say anything today, he'll keep his mouth shut. I'm in the clear."

"This is for me," Clarke said and Bellamy nodded.

"I'm waiting against the wall in case you need me to punch him again."

"On school grounds? I think I'm good, Mike Tyson. I'll meet you inside."

Bellamy looked incredibly reluctant and leaned against the theater door frame. Clarke decided to let him have his way and walked toward Finn's retreating form. It made sense Bellamy was so protective; he essentially was Octavia's guardian. He had been protecting himself and others his entire life.

"Finn!" Clarke called out. A few walking students sniggered and looked snidely at Clarke as she ran through the parking lot.

Finn stopped and slowly turned around. Clarke had to stop herself from gasping; the dark purple bruise on his left jaw was the size of a large chocolate chip cookie. Bellamy put an incredible amount of force behind the punch.

"Clarke," he noted. Finn's glance fell behind her shoulder. "Is he your new guy?" He nodded to Bellamy in the distance.

"Not that it would be any of your business, but no. He's my friend."

Finn chuckled, "I was your friend."

"Now you're not." Clarke said icily. The air hung awkwardly between them. "Look, I'm not here to yell at you. But I just wanted to say it was fucked up, what you did. And we were never exclusive, but I had no idea Raven never knew about us. And for you to string both of us along was wrong. I deserve better than that, and she deserves better than that."

"I know." Finn looked to the pavement.

"I don't want to talk to you again after today. I don't want to hear your name or look at you. And for all the shit you put me through, I deserve one favor."

Finn looked up and nodded, "okay."

"Don't rat out Bellamy for punching you."

"I wasn't going to," Finn said defensively.

"Then it's an easy favor and you should consider yourself lucky." Clarke hated it, but her and her mom both had an ability to voice their desires and persuade people to comply.

Finn laughed sardonically.

"What?" Clarke asked with an edge in her voice.

"Noting, just the way you two protect each other… I give it a month before you're together."

"We're done here," Clarke scoffed and walked away. She was proud of herself for walking straight ahead without looking back.

When she got close, Bellamy furrowed his eyebrows. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"You look upset."

"He just talked shit about me and you hanging out, it's whatever. I don't give a fuck what he says." Clarke said bitterly.

"Note to self, avoid your bad side," Bellamy smiled.

Clarke found herself staring at his crooked grin. "I think you're impervious."

They walked into practice and even though Wells left two spots open next to him in the front, Clarke pulled Bellamy's arm into a farther back row.

"Are you mad at Wells too?" Bellamy asked once they cast off their backpacks and sat in the faded red auditorium seats.

"I just can't deal with his pissed off mood today. He needs to get over you being Danny and you being my friend."

"I like 'Taking No Shit' Clarke," Bellamy said approvingly.

Clarke wanted to reply she liked every Bellamy, but Mrs. Greene started practice. She split the girls and boys up to work on their respective group numbers: Grease Lightening and Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee. The girls worked in the green room, but Clarke made several excuses to walk through the auditorium and check on Bellamy, especially because she only came in for one line at the end of the number. He looked utterly lost in the beginning but when she looked again, he was confident and nailing the easy movements. Clarke had to admit… it was attractive.

At the end of practice each group performed for the other and Lexa nailed the Rizzo personality. Maybe mocking Clarke was an easy motivation for her. Bellamy did a perfect Danny and for the first time the excitement of the show clicked for Clarke. Yes, she was happy when she was cast, but Wells and Finn had thrown a shadow over the past week. Now, she was more present in practice and focused on her role.

"Well done!" Mrs. Greene clapped at the end of the boy's number. "I'm so proud of all of you, see you tomorrow!"

While the group was collecting their things, Wells grabbed his bag and moved up to Clarke and Bellamy. "Can I drive you home, Clarke?" Wells asked in an abrupt tone. Clarke turned around and he recognized her face. She had the same face after Lexa shouted at her in the cafeteria after their breakup last year; this was Clarke's "I don't give a fuck" face.

"I do have to go to Dropship," Bellamy added, looking tentatively between the two.

"Fine," Clarke said, sounding less than enthused.

"See you tomorrow, princess." Bellamy said, throwing a wink her way before leaving the auditorium.

Normally Wells would have mocked Bellamy's nickname or asked its origin, but he knew better today. They walked in total silence to Wells' Honda civic.

Before they got in, Wells turned to Clarke. "Hey, I've been a bad friend for the last week and I'm sorry." Clarke's face instantly lightened. "I was upset Bellamy got the role, and I took it out on you. And this weekend I really did go to sleep early Friday night, and you never got back to me. I heard what happened today…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"It sucked." Clarke said flatly.

"Yeah, it sounds like it. I'm sorry I wasn't there-"

"It's okay. Bellamy was." Clarke pointed out, and the brief look of agony on Wells' face instantly made her regret her bluntness. All the rumors of Wells having feelings for her swirled around her head like flies…

"I'm glad," he managed eventually. He looked stressed over his next comment. "Do you think, that he… is trying to… you know…"

"Fuck me?" Clarke said again, watching Wells look uncomfortable. Clarke thought back to two am this Friday when she gave him the option of sleeping in bed with her. She loved the way the dim kitchen light illuminated half of his face, catching the whites of his eyes and teeth. "No. He's not. But even if he was, he's a good guy. He's not Finn."

"I don't know him," Wells said neutrally.

"You don't. You can."

Wells nodded. "I will. I'm over it, I promise."

"Good," Clarke agreed and finally opened the door to the car. Her life felt more in sync than it had 24 hours prior: Wells and her were friends, Finn was excommunicated, and Bellamy… well. Clarke pictured him on stage, singing with the other men ducked around him. Bellamy was in her life, and that felt pretty damn good too.


	7. An Invitation

Thursday night Bellamy's mom re-appeared. He was doing the dishes from him and Octavia's dinner when he heard the easily distinguishable sound of a key attempting to be put in the lock. When he was younger, he would rush to the door and open it, saving his mom the embarrassment of scraping metal against metal. Now, he kept scrubbing the dishes in a circular motion. Each swipe of the key made him more angry.

Finally, she managed to let herself in. "Hey, Bell."

He determinedly kept scrubbing, albeit more softly. "You've been gone since Friday."

Bellamy didn't turn, but heard her rummaging in her purse. There was an unmistakable clink of glass on glass, and he wondered if the bottles were empty. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her take another swig.

The bottles weren't empty.

"I know. I feel terrible about that. I was upstate with your aunt, she's going through that god awful divorce, you know?"

Bellamy shut off the water. His anger management class, which he attended each Sunday morning, taught him de-escalation techniques. Some of them were stupid, like thinking of a "happy" or "calm" place to transcend reality. But some of them were helpful. His favorite was counting backwards from 10.

10…

"Mom."

9…

"Let's get this straight."

8…

"I don't care where you were or what you were doing."

7…

"I don't even care that you didn't text."

6…

"I've given up on you acting like a mom."

5…

"Or a responsible person."

4…

"Just don't drink in the house."

3…

She looks at him as if she's been slapped.

2…

By now she knows better than to argue or throw a tantrum, or even more embarrassing to them both, try to defend herself.

1…

She knew her time was limited. When Bellamy was graduated and turned 18, he would challenge her for custody or help Octavia emancipate herself, he told her multiple times. Bellamy sighed, feeling the weight of guilt and family problems well beyond his years. His mother wordlessly handed him her purse.

"There are leftovers in the fridge." He said, taking the bag and leaving her in the dim kitchen light alone.

The next day at school it was hard to focus. Bellamy didn't touch an assignment or book. He merely sat at his desk like an abandoned marionette.

Oddly, he felt more calm when his mom was missing. She was easier to put out of his mind and dismiss when not physically present. When she was gone, him and Octavia could laugh and joke around the apartment without walking on eggshells. Their meals were methodically laid out and nothing went missing from the fridge. Most of all, he didn't have to watch the pain on Octavia's face.

Growing up he tried to shelter Octavia from the brunt of his mom's behaviors. He was a charming young boy, and often befriended the neighbors so Octavia would have somewhere to go when his mom stumbled in drunk or worse. Because of this, his vision of his mother tarnished long ago. Also because of this, Octavia still held hope she would change.

"What's up?" Clarke asked him on their way to lunch. Her eyebrows furrowed together and a pinch of concern turned down her mouth.

"Nothing," Bellamy said automatically.

"Bullshit." Clarke said.

Bellamy didn't bother to contradict her. It was interesting, how easily his small world of two (him and Octavia) had stretched to include Clarke. The only explanation he had was it felt like he always had known Clarke, despite their short time as friends. Everything she said and did felt familiar and easy, like a well worn pair of jeans. When they bickered with Octavia for control over the AUX cord, or sat down automatically next to each other in class, nothing felt new. She was as familiar as the back of his hand, and he didn't think twice about including or protecting her.

"My mom came home last night."

Clarke kept her expression neutral, but he could see her eyes trying to carefully pick through her thoughts to the most appropriate reaction; Clarke was methodical and strong. "Did something happen?"

"Not particularly. I just like it better when she's not around, honestly."

The pair snagged a table in the corner of the cafeteria, away from most of the human traffic. "You like it better when you know what to expect." Clarke observed.

Bellamy looked into her blue eyes, wondering what her excuse was for their quick intimacy. He smirked at her, "nothing gets by you, princess."

"I understand that," Clarke nodded, but offered no further explanation. Clarke was almost as cryptic and guarded as he was.

Octavia bounded over to the two and threw her backpack on the table. "Bell."

"O." He said back, slapping his hands on the table for a similar effect.

"I invited Lincoln over for dinner tonight." The way Bellamy's veins throbbed along his neck was comical. Clarke started to laugh, but turned it into a small cough instead.

"Before you get all protective-older-brother, listen. I've been seeing him since summer. Last weekend was the first, and definitely last for a while, time I've drank. He was sober, he doesn't drink, but I felt nervous hanging out in that huge crowd of people. He wanted me to tell you about us for months, but I knew you'd freak out so I hid it. I don't want to keep secrets from you, Bell. I want you to really meet him and… and I want you to like him."

Clarke faded into her chair, realizing this was a private conversation. Although, it was a mark of her status among the Blake siblings that they didn't ask her to leave or walk away from the table. Earlier this week, Clarke grew bold enough to ask Bellamy what he did at anger management classes. After he answered, "manage anger," and she shoved him, he actually did explain the format and strategies. He told her about counting backwards from 10, and wondered if he was doing that right now.

"O-"

"I love him." She said, looking deadly serious. Clarke could tell she meant it by the set stance of her eyebrows and the stiffness of her posture. Octavia was fierce and determined; a family trait.

"You don't know that." Bellamy countered quietly. Clarke wondered suddenly if Bellamy had ever been in love. She never heard of him dating anyone seriously, but he also had no social media or digital footprint. If he had ever fallen in love, there would be no record of it. Was it better that way?

Clarke decided she had never fallen in love. Lexa was exciting and toxic, but it wasn't love. And Finn was never available enough, emotionally or physically, for Clarke to fall in love with him. Other people had come and gone, but nothing ever stuck enough for her to sit as straight and tall as Octavia was now.

"I do." Octavia said simply. "Mom's in. I called Indra and she said she'd cover your shift tonight."

Bellamy glared at her. "O, I need those hours at Dropship."

"Relax, she said you could come in early Saturday. Bring Clarke," she nodded to Clarke, the first time since the beginning of the conversation her presence had been acknowledged, "it can be a double date. I'll see you tonight, I got a ride after school." With that, Octavia spun and left, leaving no room for discussion or argument. She left her implication behind, laying over the two like a thick, wool blanket.

Bellamy ran his hands over his face and through his hair, sucking in a heavy breath.

"I don't have to go," Clarke offered.

Bellamy shook his head and looked at her, "Up to you."

"No it's not," Clarke pointed out. "It's up to you; it's your family."

"It's going to be a disaster," Bellamy promised.

"I like disasters." Clarke said quickly. "I am a disaster," she joked and Bellamy chuckled. "But seriously, whatever you want."

Bellamy turned back front and spoke to the air rather than Clarke's face. "I would like you there," he said at last and turned to look at her. "You help keep me calm."

"Done," she said simply, her cheeks slightly pink. Wells came over and joined the table, putting his tray down next to Clarke. Ever since he drove Clarke home earlier this week, they seemed to have repaired their friendship. Later at rehearsal, she even let Wells sit next to them- the last sign the ice had thawed.

Bellamy knew Wells liked Clarke, and he could sympathize. Each day he spent with her he too grew to care about her both operated under similar emotional and social doctrines; namely trusting few people and opening up to even fewer.

"So Bellamy," Wells said, leaning across Clarke. His arm was sharing her armrest. "What made you audition?"

"Your dad made me," Bellamy said dully, wondering how this information had escaped Wells's knowledge. "It was involvement or expulsion. I thought I would get cast as a tree."

Wells chuckled. Bellamy wondered if Wells was putting on a show of comraderie for Clarke; two could play that game. "Honestly, I thought you would get Danny, man. You're talented."

Wells seemed taken aback. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

Clarke rolled her eyes and Mrs. Green called to her, causing Clarke to propel herself out of her worn auditorium chair.

"Hey, I am sorry for how I acted last week. I know you didn't ask for the part and it was a stupid thing to be upset about."

Clarke wasn't here, so Bellamy supposed Wells's apology was genuine. Bellamy nodded. "I get it. Don't worry, it was more between you and Clarke anyway."

"I know. She's hard to apologize to, harder to get forgiveness from. I messed up this weekend and wasn't there when she needed me."

"I was," Bellamy said cooly.

"I know. Thank you."

There was a pause. Bellamy looked over to the animated conversation between Clarke and Mrs. Green. "She really doesn't need either of us. She can handle herself."

"I guess you're right. But I've been her best friend since kindergarten… and you've been talking to her for two weeks."

Bellamy glowered. "Your point?"

"I don't know you." Wells said.

"I don't know you well either. But I do know that I don't like people who bail on their friends. When I'm in someone's life, it's permanent. However you feel about me doesn't matter, I'm not going anywhere."

Wells eyed Bellamy, whose neck had turned slightly red from annoyance. "You're not the first guy, or girl," (Bellamy heard that rumor back in sophomore year, but didn't know how true it was. He added that to his ever growing list of things he knew and appreciated about Clarke) "to say that to Clarke or about Clarke. You'll notice none of them are still here. I am."

The two young men eyed each other apprehensively, unwilling to relinquish gazes.

"All actors to the stage, please!" Mrs. Green called. "Clarke will be leading you through a light warm up and the group choreography for the dance scene."

So she choreographed too. Jesus. Clarke removed her combat boots and oversized sweater to reveal her leggings and tank top underneath. Bellamy's mouth went dry as he took in her more exposed form.

Rehearsal went as well as could be hoped for when 25 awkward teenagers attempted to do the hand jive. More than once, Bellamy found himself slightly fixated on other body parts than Clarke's feet… Mercifully, the group split back up to review the guy and girl numbers from previous rehearsals so he was able to clear his head.

At the end, Clarke was slightly flushed from the activity and her curly hair was barely contained in the elastic; she was unfairly beautiful.

"Ready for dinner?" Bellamy said in as neutral of a tone as possible.

Clarke nodded. "I was hoping to clean up first."

"We can swing by your place. I'm in no rush to eat with my mom, O and Lincoln."

Clarke laughed. The pair waved goodbye to Wells (who looked slightly put out) and walked to Bellamy's truck.

"What were you and Wells talking about earlier?"

Bellamy clenched his jaw, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. "He apologized." They arrived at the truck and split to enter their respective front seats. Bellamy hoped his answer was enough to quell Clarke's curiosity.

"Did he do an intimidating, protective talk?" Clarke asked.

"He tried," Bellamy grinned. "No wonder you have no friends, princess. Jaha scares them all away."

"Thanks for the hot tip, Mr. Popularity."

"The real key is a flip phone."

Clarke laughed and then looked over at Bellamy through squinted eyes. "He means well, but I don't really need protecting."

"I've noticed. You can play piano, act, sing, dance, paint, draw, sketch and live alone. Anything I've forgotten?"

"Reform campus hooligans."

Bellamy looked over at her from the steering wheel. "You better not be talking about me, princess."

"Oh I'm sorry. Did someone else in this car almost get expelled?" Clarke pretended to look in the backseat. "Nope. I must be talking about you."

Bellamy turned down the familiar road to Clarke's house. "He's trying to protect you from very specific people." Bellamy said lowly.

"What do you mean?"

He paused. "Anyone who could be interested in you." Bellamy looked over to gauge her reaction. He thought back to O calling this dinner a "double date" at lunch.

"Wells is my best friend," she said slowly.

"I understand. _He_ doesn't though."

Clarke sighed. "People have told me since middle school. But he's never said anything or confessed an undying love for me so I ignore it. It's easier. It would hurt to lose him. He was the only one who was there through my parents being arrested, my dad going to jail... He's the only one who knows the full story." Clarke trailed off and looked out the window.

Bellamy felt badly for pushing the issue. Even though he may not be Wells' biggest fan, he could appreciate the role he played in Clarke's life. The truck pulled into Clarke's driveway and then stopped.

"I get it," Bellamy said simply and genuinely.

Clarke reached down to pick up her discarded backpack off the floor. "And anyway, I've already told him that it's different with us."

Bellamy's heart skipped a beat. Us. "What do you mean?" His voice came off less casual than he intended.

Clarke put her bag on. "I explained that you're a good guy. You're not trying to… to… you know."

Bellamy enjoyed seeing Clarke fidget and avoid eye contact. "Not trying to what, princess?"

Clarke looked up at the truck's ceiling. "You're not trying to fuck me and leave me. You're not trying to use me. You're not trying to put a notch in your belt; take your pick."

Clarke made to get out of the truck's cab but Bellamy leaned across the divider and put his hand on her knee. "Clarke." She took her hand off the handle and turned back to him, finally looking at his face. She reminded him of the girl he picked up on the side of the road- vulnerable.

"I'm not a subtle person. I want to make something clear: what Finn did, what other people have done, is wrong. And you don't deserve it. I don't like a lot of people, but I like you. I think you're talented and smart and," Bellamy trailed off. The corners of Clarke's mouth turned up. "And beautiful. I'm here because I like your company. And I feel like we have a lot in common. Whatever happens, or doesn't happen, I'm here."

"I thought you didn't want new friends," Clarke teased lightly.

"Shit, I didn't think I did either." They both laughed. Bellamy's hand was still on her leg and she slid hers down to cover his, not interlocking their fingers but tracing over the faintly bruised knuckles.

"Thanks," she said softly.

Her index finger traced circles on his palm and he cleared his throat before saying, "No problem."

"Wanna come in?" she asked as she finally broke the spell and opened the car's door handle.

"Sure," Bellamy said, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Dinner didn't seem quite so terrible now.


	8. A Dinner

As Clarke showered, Bellamy sat in a circular chair in her room and inspected the contents, just as she was allowed to do with his room last week.

There were numerous sketches scattering the chipped, white desk in the corner. Bellamy assumed Clarke was the artist and took his time with each image, trying to trace the origin to understand what inspired them. Some were more abstract, bright colors swirling together, while others were obviously subjects or places: Wells looking studious, and older woman looking beautiful and serious, a prison complex, a chess piece; these were segments of Clarke.

She emerged from the bathroom dressed in her traditional jeans and gray t-shirt. Her wet curly hair laid limply on her shoulders like cooked Ramen noodles. He could tell she had a little makeup on to draw attention to her eyes, and her cheeks were still flushed from the warm water.

"Find anything you like?" She asked, staring at his hand which still gripped the sketched chess piece.

Bellamy looked down and put the paper back on her desk. "Sorry."

"No, I don't care. I poked around your room." Clarke dropped her used towel in a hamper and turned to her dresser with assorted jewelry scattered along its top.

"You know you're really good, right?" Bellamy said, picking up another sketch of Wells. He was smiling and a television screen reflected in his glasses.

Clarke's flush deepened. "Thanks. I like it because I don't have to think. I can just look at lines and colors and it goes right from my brain to my hand… if that makes sense."

Bellamy thought about himself skateboarding and how he could empty himself as he did various tricks in the skate park. "It does."

"I sketched one of you." Clarke said after a beat, putting on a small pair earrings with a propped up mirror.

"You did?"

"It's not great… it was just from memory-"

"Can I see it?"

"How about when it's done? Or if you actually sat for one?"

"How about I see this one _and_ sit for one?"

Clarke turned and glared at him. She walked over to the desk where Bellamy was currently spinning in her chair and opened a drawer. Inside were various notebooks, _sketchbooks,_ Bellamy corrected in his head. While she leaned over him he could smell the light vanilla scent of some shampoo or wash she must have used in the shower. He had the sudden urge to pull her into his lap and envelop himself in the scent.

Clarke pulled out a black, tattered book and flipped through various pages. Wordlessly, she shoved it into Bellamy's hands.

He was on stage. Dark charcoal covered the whole background except for a spotlight on him. He recognized the pose as one of the moves from his "Grease Lightnin'" number in the musical. The details of the stage were incredible, each wood panel grained and patterned. He could almost feel the velvet texture of the curtains pulled off to the sides. But what really caught his eye was his expression. The sketch of Bellamy looked like he was mid-song, mouth opened and eyes shut. He looked happy and powerful-not in the strong way he was used to, punching people and threatening them-but powerful in his confidence. Was this how Clarke saw him? God, he hoped so.

When he looked back up, Clarke was studying him. "I told you it wasn't done," she said, taking the book and closing it back into her drawer.

"It's… I…" Words didn't fail Bellamy often, but he couldn't quite describe how it felt to be seen. Seen as something other than a problem. "It's incredible," he finally managed to get out.

Clarke was sitting on her bed, tying on her converse sneakers. "It's not, but thank you." Clarke finished with her shoes and stood up. "Ready."

Bellamy managed to push his emotions back down and nodded.

The pair was silent in the car. Bellamy's grip on the steering wheel was tight and Clarke imagined he was lost in his own thoughts. So, she flipped on the radio and found the alternative station she listened to. She recognized the Chvrches song playing and started humming along.

"You like Chvrches?" Bellamy said, finally saying something.

"Mmmhm."

Bellamy looked at her briefly. "Interesting. Didn't peg you for it."

"What did you think? I listen to show tunes all day?"

"Well, not really. You strike me as a country girl."

Clarke made a choking noise. "Ew."

Bellamy laughed. "No country, got it." Another pause. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"I've noticed. Lincoln really isn't a bad guy, you know. He's in our art class-"

"It's not Lincoln. I wish Octavia could wait until she was in college or out of the house before she was with a guy because it's gross, but I know he's decent."

Clarke's eyebrows furrowed. "Is it your mom?"

"Probably," Bellamy shrugged. "She's been gone for almost a week and now we pretend to be a normal, happy family? Like she usually sits down to dinner with us? It's bullshit," he said, shaking his head.

"I know. I get it. Me and Abby's one meal a week is weird. It's for Octavia, though. Maybe you could think of it that way?"

They pulled up to the apartment parking lot. "I'll try," Bellamy said as he cut the engine. Clarke smiled and briefly grabbed his hand before jumping out of the large truck.

By now, Clarke was familiar with the dilapidated exterior of the Blake's apartment complex. She navigated the twisting hallways easily and paused outside the door waiting for Bellamy to catch up. He seemed to be walking slower than usual and dragging his feet, quite literally. Clarke empathized with him and vowed to be as much as a buffer as possible between Bellamy and his mom. Clarke couldn't help to wonder, what would she look like? How would she act?

Bellamy reached Clarke and leaned against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway. Clarke was silent and waited for Bellamy to be ready to enter. He had on a faded pair of black jeans, a dark red shirt and gray hoodie, where his traditional beanie was tucked into the pocket. His hands were buried in his jeans and his sleeves were rolled up to show his tanned forearms.

He wasn't Clarke's type; she found herself attracted to traditionally good looking or jock-type men. _What good had that done her?_ A voice in her head chided. And with women, she often found herself drawn to strong personalities that challenged her, an equally lethal combination. Maybe part of her problem with relationships was that she sought them out in the wrong places.

"Okay," Bellamy decided. Clarke snapped out of her admiration and nodded. Bellamy lead the way into his apartment.

The normally pristine kitchen was littered with used dishes and various ingredients. Clarke watched Bellamy notice the mess and his neck flush red, a vein starting to throb. Clarke linked her arm through his and steered them toward the table.

Octavia, Lincoln and the woman Clark assumed was Bellamy's mother, were already seated and chatting. "Bell!" Octavia said brightly when she caught his eye. She bounced up from her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm glad you're here," Clarke heard her mumble into his shirt. The tension Bellamy carried in his shoulders melted as he hugged Octavia back.

Lincoln stood up and offered his hand to Bellamy once Octavia released him. With a quick once-over, Bellamy met Nathan's eyes and locked him in a firm grip. "Good to see you," Lincoln said. Bellamy nodded gruffly.

"Hey, Clarke!" Lincoln said lightly, giving her a wave.

"Hey, Lincoln."

"Ah, you're Clarke!" The woman on the end of the table said. "So good to meet you. Bellamy never brings his girls home." She had straight brown hair that was slightly stringy and dull. Clarke guessed at one time the woman was beautiful, but her skin was worn and abused. The eye make-up she attempted to wear was cracked and too dark for her sallow face.

"I wonder why," Bellamy mused out loud. Clarke made to sit down next to his mother (Mrs. Blake?) but Bellamy intercepted and pulled out the chair one over, opposite of Lincoln.

"Well isn't this nice," Mrs. Blake said, rubbing her hands together.

"I agree," Octavia said brightly. Lincoln looked over and according to his gaze, the sun rose and set with Octavia's grin. Clarke could tell how deeply he cared for her.

"What are you doing next year, Lincoln?" Bellamy asked; his arms were crossed and the vein in his neck was still visible.

"You didn't want to wait until everyone had a roll before beginning the Inquisition, Bell?" Octavia said.

"Not at all," Lincoln said quickly. His arm moved slightly and Clarke guessed he moved it to Octavia's leg under the table to quell her anger. The Blake siblings both had a streak of hot-headedness to them. "I've been offered a soccer scholarship at State and will be looking to study biology and eventually go on to medical school."

Clarke was impressed. Bellamy was not; but at least he had no negative response.

"That's amazing! A sturdy job, that's for sure," Mrs. Blake said happily. She handed around the bowl of rolls and Clarke took one to have something to do with her hands. The tension in the room was thick and she felt severely out of place.

"What about you, Clarke?" Lincoln said smoothly, attempting to create conversation.

"I have auditions coming up in a few weeks for different performing programs," Clarke said. She felt Bellamy's head snap to her.

"Which ones?" he asked, his arms uncrossing for the first time.

"Well, there's Northwest, North Carolina and NYU… that's where I'd like to go. Bit sick of Arcadia," she grinned.

"Amen," Octavia added.

"What do you plan to do with that?" Mrs. Blake asked.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at his mother. "You don't need to answer that, Clarke."

Clarke felt the natural diplomat in her coming out, trying to soothe the tension from the pair. "Oh, well the idea would be to become an actress."

"That's a tough business," Mrs. Blake said. A nerve pinched in Clarke; she was used to this reaction from adults. _Art? Performing art? Where was the money, the success? The economic security? _

"How would you know?" Bellamy asked in a tone of utter impatience.

"I made a salad," Octavia offered weakly, passing the bowl to Lincoln first.

"Thanks, O," he said off-handedly.

"Well, you just hear things, Bellamy. I had friends growing up that were all trying to do acting; none of them ever made it." Mrs. Blake said matter-of-factly.

Lincoln offered Clarke the bowl across the table. She started spooning a heap of greens on to her plate. "It is hard," Clarke said stoically. "But it's what I want to do."

"Well, you're certainly cute enough." Mrs. Blake said.

"What does that mean?" Bellamy sputtered.

"You don't see ugly actresses in the movies do you?"

"I'm interested in stage acting," Clarke cut in before Bellamy could lash out. His anger was coming off him in sharp bursts; she could feel him itching to defend her, or perhaps more accurately, itching to fight with his mother. Clarke gripped his arm and pulled his ear to her lips. "Ten," she whispered.

Bellamy let out a breath and took the bowl from her hands. "Nine," he said back, taking the salad out of its container.

"What?" Octavia asked.

"Nothing," he chimed back.

The group started eating and proceeded through the main course with minimal damage.

"I got a cake for dessert," Octavia said. "Want to help me cut it?" She asked to Lincoln. He nodded and followed her over to the counter, hand on the small of her back.

"I'll get my dessert," Mrs. Blake said smiling. She got up and Clarke heard the refrigerator door open, and the sound of clinking glass. "Anyone else for a glass of wine?" she asked the room, which suddenly felt very small and hot.

Bellamy sat up straighter, "We're seventeen, Aurora." That must be Mrs. Blake's first name; it reminded Clarke of how she couldn't bear to call Abby mother.

"Oh god, Bellamy, lighten up! The drinking age is 18 everywhere else in the world. You act so maturely." Clarke heard the sound of liquid being poured into a glass, it felt like Aurora was pouring away her relationships with it.

Bellamy got out of his seat quickly. Clarke followed him after a beat, not knowing what else to do. Bellamy easily took the glass from Aurora's hands. "You're not drinking in the house."

"Bellamy, it's one drink." Aurora smiled and subtly moved her body closer to Bellamy's side gripping her wine glass.

"It's never 'one drink' and you're not getting drunk here. We've talked about this." The smile slipped off her face and the tone in the room pitched to deadly serious. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke noticed Octavia stopped cutting and was staring at the pair. Lincoln was diligently plating the dessert, trying to pretend he didn't exist.

"It's my house," she said coolly.

"You don't want to start this, Aurora," Bellamy said. Clarke stood behind him, feeling useless. She knew the pair was entering into dangerous territory, where counting and breathing exercises wouldn't calm Bellamy down.

Aurora turned back and went to the cabinet, producing another wine glass. She picked up the bottle of wine left on the counter and poured another one. Bellamy moved in a flash. He grabbed the bottle from her hand and dumped it down the kitchen sink.

"No!" Aurora yelled.

Bellamy dumped the glass in his hand down the sink as well, putting the empty flank roughly in the sink. Before he could reach her, Aurora took her remaining glass in her hand, and like an animal caught in headlights, swallowed the entire glass in one gulp.

"Do you know how much that bottle cost?" she said harshly, once she finished swallowing.

"Leave," Bellamy said. Clarke couldn't recognize him; his face and neck were red, his eyes were narrowed into slits and his hands were balled into fists at his side.

"How dare you tell me what to do," Aurora spat, crossing her arms. All pretenses of politeness were shattered; the illusion was broken.

"Leave," Bellamy repeated, crossing his arms. Clarke noticed his fingernails were digging into his biceps.

"You ungrateful, piece of-" Aurora hissed.

"Mom!" Octavia shouted, moving to the other side of Bellamy. "Mom, don't do this," she pleaded. Clarke wasn't quite sure what Octavia was asking for. _Don't yell? Don't drink? Don't leave? Don't treat Bellamy that way? Don't do any of it? _

"I thought having a girlfriend would lighten you up," Aurora said with a biting tone, still gripping her empty wine glass. She put it to her lips as if she expected it to magically refill. When she came up empty she put the glass on the counter behind her. "Guess she hasn't put out yet."

The insult rolled off Clarke; this was the first time in memory someone accused her of being a _prude_. She also knew it wasn't personal; Aurora was trying to get under Bellamy's skin. He was standing between her and a drink. Clarke felt a surge of warm affection for Abby. Even though Abby was selfish and busy, she never intentionally tried to break Clarke down. If anything, she tried too hard to make things right.

It worked.

Bellamy was furious.

"Get out of the house before I call the police." He took a step forward, as a result Aurora took a step backwards and closer to the door.

Aurora could feel herself losing ground and started to panic. "They won't believe you. I'm the adult."

Bellamy laughed, a harsh biting thing. "I'll call CPS."

Aurora froze. Octavia took a step forward, "Bell-"

Bellamy stuck his hand out to halt Octavia's movement. Lincoln appeared at her side in a flash.

"I have years of pictures, journals and memories to make some Social Worker really concerned." Bellamy hissed. "Abuse is illegal. So is neglect. And if you don't get the fuck out of this apartment right now-"

"My name is on the lease!" she said; a final attempt. She was smaller than she was a minute ago...a deflated balloon.

"And I pay the rent." Bellamy said savagely. The room was silent. Clarke heard Octavia's sharp intake of breath and chanced a look at her face; Octavia didn't know her brother was financially supporting them, that much was clear from her shocked expression.

Bellamy's arm fell from Octavia's path and crossed back over his chest. Aurora looked at Octavia with pleading eyes, but said nothing. Clarke could sense something breaking, ending. With a final glance, Aurora grabbed her purse off the hook next to her and slammed the door behind her.

For a minute, no one moved. Clarke realized she wasn't incredibly surprised; from Bellamy's attitude toward his mother, she knew Aurora must have been a nasty piece of work. And although the fight she just witnessed was horrible, she had been in her fair share of awful conversations when her parents were arrested… then divorced… She still remembers when Abby asked her which parent she would rather see in jail, as if a 14-year-old kid should have to decide her parents' fate...

Octavia cleared her throat. "Do you think she'll come back?" Clarke caught her meaning-not back tonight, not back next week, back at all.

Bellamy turned to his younger sister and his gaze softened. "I don't know, O."

Lincoln moved his arm around Octavia's shoulders and she turned to bury her face in his neck. Bellamy looked at them for a moment, then rounded on Clarke. "Are you okay?"

It took Clarke a moment to realize why he was asking her this. _Oh right. Your mom __insinuated_ _we were dating and I withholding sex from you. And that I was a pretty face doomed to fail in my chosen career path. _Clarke nodded, "totally fine."

Bellamy looked like he didn't believe her. "What she said… I'm sorry. I didn't realize she would go after you like that… I mean, I _should _have... I would have never brought you here-"

"Not the worst thing said about me," Clarke said. She meant for it to be a joke, but her voice was too tight and Bellamy started to get that pitying look she hated.

Octavia pulled out of Lincoln's arms. "Bell, I didn't know you were covering the bills." Bellamy shrugged. "I'll get a job too. I'm sixteen now, I'll carry some weight."

Bellamy shook his head. "Focus on school, O. It's fine."

"Bellamy," she said sternly.

He sighed. "We'll talk about it."

Octavia nodded and looked around the haphazard kitchen and abandoned cake, her eyes lingered on the empty wine bottle and glasses; she shook her head as if to say, _what a mess._

"I can't really stand the sight of this right now," Octavia choked out, eyes welling.

"I'll clean the kitchen," Bellamy said quickly. "You cooked. Why don't you and Lincoln go… do… something," he finished flatly.

Octavia cracked a grin, "So you're telling me to do Lincoln?" Lincoln choked on some air and his tanned skin darkened around his ears. Octavia laughed, clearing away the oncoming tears.

Bellamy tried to glare at her, but honestly was happy to see Octavia happy. "Do something _wholesome_."

Lincoln nodded enthusiastically, "Yes. We will." Clarke stifled a laugh, it was hilarious to see Lincoln, strong soccer captain, afraid of Bellamy-the-outsider-Blake.

"Take care of her." He said, shaking Lincoln's hand. It was a tenuous offer of acceptance, and Lincoln took it with great dignity.

"Of course." The couple left after Octavia gathered a few things. Only Bellamy and Clarke remained.

Bellamy made to turn toward the kitchen, all tension leaving his body. He looked like a rag doll, the life draining out of him once his sister left, once there was no one to perform for. Clarke grabbed his wrist, "hey," she said softly. "Do you want to sit down for a minute first? Then we can clean the kitchen."

He looked like he was going to disagree, but then moved back toward her and they walked to the couch, still linked hand to wrist. Clarke sat next to Bellamy, about three inches were left between their bodies and she could feel his heat.

Bellamy buried his face in his hands, trying to keep it together. He usually had time to break down after an incident like this, but now there was Clarke. He was so used to being brave for Octavia, he felt unequipped to be around someone he saw as an equal who didn't need protecting, someone who could actually comfort _him_. He felt Clarke's small hand rubbing tentative circles on his back and he leaned into her touch.

Without much thought or care, he buried his head in her shoulder, nearly suffocating in her curls. His arms wrapped around her delicate frame and he squeezed like she was a lifeline. Clarke responded in kind, leaning into Bellamy, clasping one hand on the back of his neck and the other still tracing shapelessness onto his back.

Clarke was surprised at how well they fit together and how right it felt. She was whispering unimportant phrases to soothe Bellamy and felt like she wasn't out of her emotional depth, even though it had been a long time since someone had been vulnerable around her. Connection came back to Clarke as easily as breathing, and felt a little piece of her damaged heart click back into place.

After a minute or two, Bellamy pulled back slightly and stared at Clarke's face. She looked strong and concentrated. He wondered if she was still looking at him with artist's eyes, picking out the lines and wrinkles, the slopes of confusion in his brow or frustration set in his chin.

"Sorry," he said. He pulled himself out of her neck and settled in the couch next to her, legs pressed against one another. Her arm came to link around his and she leaned on his shoulder.

"Don't be."

And there they sat. A few minutes? A few hours? Bellamy couldn't be sure. But he did know in that time he was completely comfortable and didn't feel like he was performing for anyone. Clarke was just an extension of himself.

At some point, he must have dozed off, finally collapsing from the emotional and physical toll of the day. When he woke up, the light outside his window was gone and he was fully recumbent on the couch, covered with one of their few spare, patchy blankets. He looked around for Clarke, but the apartment was empty and for a moment he felt as if he dreamt the whole evening. Until he walked into the spotless kitchen and found a note resting on the table.

_Wanted to let you sleep- caught an Uber home. Leftovers are in the fridge. _

_Worst double date of my life, think about how you'll make it up to me. _

_Clarke_

Bellamy grinned as he read the last line, recognizing her easy sarcasm through the writing. His heart also fluttered when he read the word "date." Did she see it that way? Or was she just teasing him because of Octavia's invitation?

He flipped the paper over and there was a light sketch of himself sleeping on the back. He recognized the think quality of the paper now, it must have been torn from a small sketchbook. On the paper, his eyes were blissful and he looked completely at peace. Bellamy immediately took the scrap and brought it into his room, using a tack to push it into the wall above his dresser.

He wished he could see himself as Clarke did.


End file.
